


Scorpion

by poeticinjustice



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 05:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticinjustice/pseuds/poeticinjustice
Summary: An unfinished story about a girl with a dream.





	Scorpion

I don't know how long I've been sitting here. I've lost track of time. A person only has so many fingers, how does one count past infinity? If a person spends the entirety of their life counting, was that time well spent? Would you be proud of yourself for spending your entire life, counting every single second, hoping one day the final number would come. I stopped counting the seconds long ago, I went on to counting the people that walked by. I gave them names. Sometimes I saw them again. Sometimes they were gone forever. I made up stories by listening to their conversations. Imagining their lives was all I could do back then. I'm not being held captive. I am not chained to the ground. There is no cage or ropes that bind me. Yet I sit here, watching other people walk freely, as if I was trying to learn from them. There were no smiles. There was no laughter, no friendly faces. But I don't know what a friendly face is, even today. Nobody showed me any compassion. I was ignored. Forgotten. Invisible. Nobody knew I existed. Nobody cared. In this town, people only cared for themselves. I had to start doing that. But I couldn't yet. I had to watch other people do it first. And it was easy to learn from them. They showed how much they didn't care for others. There were always bodies piled up around the streets. People got mugged, raped, attacked, committed suicide, even. People didn't care. It didn't affect them, why should they care. They just had to do their job.

I somehow grew older. I fed myself from the meals that many people dropped. They were too busy to stop and pick up their food. Clothes weren't much of a problem. With all the bodies piled up, there were always a few bloody clothes that could fit me. If I found any clothing I particularly liked, I held onto it. But I never wore the clothes I liked. I kept them neatly folded and placed in a box. My house was made of boxes. As for hygiene, I often searched the bodies and found bags of people's possessions. Toothpicks, combs, hand sanitizer, money. The money was useful. I didn't buy much. Cups, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. That's all I needed. I washed myself by the river underneath the bridge. The cups were used to catch the rain water, I also used that for drinking. For entertainment, I watched the people live their lives. The town was like my own personal television. The weather channel, I guessed whether it would rain or not. It usually rained, so it was easy. For sports, I watched people kick around balls of paper while walking. For news, I would peer at a newspaper that flew past my face in the wind. Cooking channel was when I looked at the bakery, trying to guess the names of the food. I didn't know my own name. I didn't have a name. Did I need one? I didn't talk to anyone, because there was nothing I needed to talk about. I had everything I needed to survive. And survive I did. But I was confused. I was unhappy. I had everything I needed. A roof over my head, entertainment, hygiene, food, water, clothes. What more did I need? Then I saw it. Then, I saw her.

The girl that I crossed paths with was short, most likely my age. She was alone, throwing a bouncy ball at the wall and catching it. Playing, most likely. By herself, she was obviously lonely. Walking over, her tiny eyes shifted in my direction. She looked scared. I have seen that expression in the slums. Fear. Yet she didn't shrink away from my gaze. If anything she seemed curious. Like a stray animal being offered food. Due to not paying attention to the ball, it bounced off the brick wall and rolled over to my feet. I picked it up, bouncing it over to the girl. She bounced it back.  
We conversed, bouncing back and forth.

"Where are your friends, Miss?"  
"Nonexistent."  
Bounce.  
"Are you doing anything later?"  
"No."  
Bounce.  
"Do you want to play?"  
"I suppose."  
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

Over time I grew a sort of "friendship" with the girl. It was rather amusing. She listened to my orders without a second thought.  
"Get the ball out of the tree."  
"Yes, ma'am."  
"Use your money to buy me some more toothpaste."  
"Yes, ma'am."

She was always sitting outside the box house, even in the rain. Never coming in unless I told her she could. She always stayed by my side like a lost dog. That's what she was. Where were her parents? Did she even have parents? She seemed to be rather wealthy, having nice clothes. She had money with her as well. Any time I asked for money she gave it to me without hesitation.

It was like talking to a brick wall. Like playing with a brick wall. Like bouncing a red rubber ball against a brick wall. Cracks would always form, growing bigger and bigger. But she always came back, no matter how hard I threw her. Unmovable, unbreakable, no matter the force, no matter what. I could only ever take her down, bit by bit, crack by crack, bounce by bounce. I will be the one to break this brick wall. I will tear it down, and build it anew.

Without my hand, this lonesome rubber ball will be going nowhere in life. But I will be the hand that throws the ball. I will be the one breaking this wall down. It's not enough to break her, I need to rest assured that I'm able to.

I threw the ball at the wall, and it crumbled before me.


End file.
